


An Afternoon

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Anal Sex, Dystopia, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Alternate Universe, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak’s slave is very well suited to him, and he’s not that poorly fit to Bashir, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Elim’s barely through the door before he’s kicking off his shoes, waiting to hear the clink of the lock behind him. He takes a quick inventory of his quarters as he strolls towards the bed, but everything’s just as he left it. 

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t touched. He’s on alert as ever while he keys the code into the nightstand, noting the exact position of the hypospray inside. It’s already set for use, and he takes a seat on his grey bed. The covers are halfway up his pet’s body, dressed only in simple, black attire, so thin and clinging that both shirt and pants are nearly sheer. An outfit Elim made himself, actually. It both hides his pet’s golden skin from the eyes of others and gives the illusion of shape to him—a rather flattering ensemble. But then, Julian looks good in just about anything.

Julian’s on his side, dark hair a mess in the sheets and curved lashes down, lips slightly parted. His arms are curled up; he’s shifted in his sleep. 

Elim gently pushes aside Julian’s thick leather collar and presses the hypospray into his neck, administering just enough to make those pretty brown eyes flutter open. 

If Elim were a weaker man, he wouldn’t leave that bed until Julian was awake enough to scream Elim’s name at the top of his limited human lungs. ...But Elim doesn’t intend to be exiled forever while his beloved Empire flourishes, and there’s work to do. He gets stiffly up. He tosses the hypospray haphazardly into the drawer; it’s DNA-coded, and Julian already knows the many ways with which he’s controlled. He eyes the drawer before watching Elim’s steps. Elim can feel those eyes on the back of his neck with relative ease. 

The spy’s never quite out of him. He slinks into the chair at his desk and tilts the console screen towards him. He has a roll of Orion knit fabric to acquire with certain items wrapped inside. He’s punching in a familiar security code when Julian breathes out loud enough to draw his attention; Elim glances to the side. 

Julian’s sprawled out on his stomach, groggily rubbing at his eyes. He sighs in his raspy voice, exotic Earth accent thick in the air, “You could’ve just asked me to be still.”

“Because you’re so good at listening to me,” Elim muses. He can’t help but smirk. Julian shoots him a sleepy grin back, evidently aware of his own cattishness. There’s a reason Elim has yet to grow bored of him. The hypospray was borderline necessary. 

Gul Dukat is also visiting the station, and the last thing Elim needs is a hungry warlord eyeing his prize. Guls in particular tend to have straying eyes where aliens are concerned, and humans are a particularly delectable treat. Julian is probably the best possible catch out of that—he looks like something straight out of a brothel stretched out along Elim’s bed, his feet swaying aimlessly in the air and his delicate fingers playing with the blanket. He lazily eyes Elim up and down while he purrs, “Come back to bed, Elim.” It hasn’t been _Garak_ for a while—not in private, at least. He is a precocious little thing. 

Tempting, too. But Elim turns back to his console, now summoning starcharts—he prefers to map his cargo’s route himself. “It shouldn’t matter if I put you to sleep; all you do all day is lounge about in my bed, anyway.” There’s a bit of a challenge to his voice; he knows very well that the little minx does more than that. But he still likes to imagine Julian like this. Even better, he likes to imagine Julian like this back on Cardassia Prime—how it will be when this exile is lifted, one way or another. 

The station’s already too warm for humans, but Julian came from a dessert, and he’s only beaded with the thinnest sheen of sweat right now, glistening all over his skin. He’d probably melt under the hot Cardassian sun. He’d need to be kept naked, of course, locked away in just Elim’s private quarters. He’d be given regular cold baths, and Elim would enjoy melting ice cubes down his chest and over his lips. He’d beg to be let out of his cage, and Elim would be a merciful master, but their walks would never stray far...

Straying back into his natural headspace, Elim brings up a list of known trader vessels in the area as he sighs, “And what are you doing now, darling?” Lounging about indeed. 

“Determining where you were today without me.” Grinning, Elim doesn’t turn to meet what’s inevitably an accusatory stare. 

“You could simply ask.”

He can hear the dripping amusement in Julian’s voice: “Because you’re so good at telling the truth.”

Elim has to laugh. “Touché, my dear Julian.”

A moment of silence passes. “Bajor.” Elim doesn’t need to answer for Julian to know he’s right. Elim’s more than a little impressed, but then, Julian does have a tendency to impress him, even after all this time. “You should’ve brought me; I love Bajor.” 

Rather than following that train of inevitable discord, Elim simply remarks, “For the record, I am completely aware of your little subterfuge to my console, here. I’m afraid your rebel order is going to be most disappointed when all you manage to transmit to them is the bookkeeping of a simple tailor.” Another impressive feature of Julian—Elim highly doubts that anyone else would’ve been able to subtly tamper with his locked console, so secured as it is. “Apparently you weren’t asleep the whole time after all.”

“The perks of superior genes,” Julian notes, but he yawns a second later, ruining the effect. 

Elim doesn’t bother tracking down the sabotage. Julian will have hidden it well, and it’ll be too much of a hassle. Besides: this is how their game is played. Inevitably, a few moments later, Julian sighs, “You would be in a better position if the Federation were restored, anyway.”

It isn’t entirely implausible. However, even exiled, Elim does feel a certain... loyalty... to the Cardassian Empire. He’s a man of the state, through and through, only second to self-preservation. The easiest rebuttal is: “But then I wouldn’t have such a lovely slave.”

“You could have a lovely boyfriend,” Julian laughs. He must know, though, that that isn’t how they work. 

“You’ll forgive me if I prefer this arrangement.”

“Understandable.” The bed creaks. Elim doesn’t look over. He simply notes the sound of one bare foot landing on the floor, a second following. He can practically feel Julian getting closer to him. 

Julian sits down across his lap, leaning against his side and draping thin arms around his neck, absently stroking the ridges along his shoulders and purring, “You should’ve taken me to Bajor.” So he could meet up with a stray splinter cell, no doubt. When he runs his soft lips along the shell of Elim’s ear, it’s difficult to think of that. “I do hope you’ll take me next time...” He shifts his position deliberately, squirming in Elim’s lap. Elim holds one hand against the small of his back and uses the other to scoop up his knees, securing his position. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t have a choice, my dear.” Julian raises an eyebrow, and Elim elaborates, “If I did that, all the other Cardassians would want to play with you.”

Elim reaches around Julian’s back to bring up a recent letter, the image of a young, voluptuous female Bajoran appearing on the screen, entirely naked. “Gul Dukat,” Elim explains, “already offered me a trade.” The image of the Bajoran is steadily rotating, every angle more scrumptious than the last and none of it any better than what Julian has to offer. To his credit, Julian simply smirks. 

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?” He leans forward to seductively draw his tongue up the groove in Elim’s forehead, nearly making Elim’s eyelids flutter. Julian nips his way down the curve of Elim’s left eye ridge as he hisses in a gravely, sensual purr, “I know you’d never trade me; you _adore_ me...” More than Elim would care to admit, even to himself.

Elim’s done resisting. He slips two fingers under Julian’s collar and jerks him forward by it, slamming their lips together. Julian’s are as silk-soft as ever, long and fragile, moist and _delicious_. Elim can feel Julian’s smile. He runs his tongue along the seam of those pretty lips and pushes at the middle, and Julian obediently gives way, opening right up to be plundered. 

Elim claims his mouth like a Klingon conquering a world, grabbing the back of his head and forcing him in, kissing him _hard_. Elim wants to make him dizzy, breathless. He tastes half stale from sleep and half spicy from that strange food he likes to replicate. Always the perfect flavour. Elim sucks on his tongue and fights it for dominance, tracing the lines of his teeth and exploring everything. Julian kisses back just as hungrily, always rising to the challenge. 

Before Elim knows it, Julian’s climbing out of his lap, never once parting. Every time Julian’s lips close, his head tilts, and he presses back in a millisecond later, starting again from a different angle. Elim keeps up; Julian makes him feel young again. They’re making out like mindless teenagers. The pleasures of a good slave. Holosuites could never do this justice. He can feel Julian tugging at the thick material of his shirt, and he lets Julian tug him out of his chair and across the floor. He knows where he’s being lead. When Julian stops moving, legs at the edge of the bed, Elim pulls back just enough to sigh, “You don’t want me to get any work done.”

Grinning positively evilly, Julian faux-whines, “I’m just _bored_ , cooped up in here all day, hoping you’ll come back and _fuck_ me...” The dirtier words always look particularly good on his sultry face. 

“Conducting your sabotage isn’t enough fun?” Elim notes. But he’s pushing Julian back onto the bed, letting Julian shift around to lie lengthwise and pull Elim down with him. 

“Not sabotage. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” He lifts up on his elbows, bringing their mouths back together. A lasting kiss, and Julian runs his tongue along Elim’s bottom lip, pulling back to insist, “Besides, you look tense. You know I was a medical man before I was your pet; I’m sure I could give you a very... _therapeutic_... massage...” The smooth fingers of one hand run up to and over Elim’s shoulder, ready to make good on their promise. 

Elim’s now lying on top of his pet, supported on hands and knees. Julian’s on his back, where he should be, with his legs a little spread, like they should be. Smirking like the filthy older man he is, Elim chuckles, “You’re so pretty when you beg...”

Julian’s eyebrow lifts. His lips quirk. “That’s not begging,” he insists. 

“I’m afraid I quite disagree.” Elim tilts his head to nip at Julian’s cheek, ready to start marking his territory. There’s a dermal regenerator in his drawer next to the hypospray; he doesn’t like to hold back during sex. After all, that’s half the fun of having an augmented body to play with. Julian can take it. 

Julian mewls as he’s claimed, only to push Elim back gently. Elim waits. 

“This is begging.” Julian lifts up again so that he’s millimeters from Elim’s face. His eyelids half lower over his dilated eyes, and he tilts his chin while he purrs in the raunchiest tone Elim’s ever heard, “I’ve been lying here in your bed almost all day, waiting for you to come home and fuck my brains right out of my skull. Now, _please_ , I want you to take your giant Cardassian cock out of your pants and stuff my ass so full of it that I can see your ridges bulging out of my stomach, and then I want you to pull it out and shove it back in, over and over again, until I’m screaming your name at the top of my lungs and you come. All. Over. _Me._ ” The end is punctuated in little orders, dripping in sex.

Elim says simply, “I stand corrected.” _That_ was begging. 

Julian leans closer, turning to the side to plead directly into Elim’s ear, “ _Please fuck me._ ” His hands are now slipping under Elim’s shirt, trying to push it up. 

Elim shoves Julian down so hard that he bounces against the firm mattress, blinking up in shock for barely a fraction of a second. Elim’s already pulling off Julian’s clothes, practically ripping the translucent fabric apart. The shirt comes right over his head, his arms pulled into the air. They’re barely halfway back down to the bed before Elim’s pushing his legs up, tugging his pants right down them and tossing the bundle of black halfway across the room. Pets don’t get underwear. Julian’s left gloriously naked, bare from head to foot aside from his collar, a constant reminder of exactly who he belongs to. Elim takes a brief moment to take in every centimeter of his slave’s beautiful body, all the lithe curves and hard angles, the dark hair above his crotch and atop his head, and the pink tint to his lips and his cock, and all the caramel colours between. He’s a vision. He spreads his legs on his own, never needing to be told. 

Elim grabs them by the ankles and shoves them up over his shoulders, loving the way Julian’s thighs feel against his body. He doesn’t bother to pull his own clothes off, just unfastens his pants enough to get his cock out. He doesn’t miss the way Julian’s eyes flicker down to it. Julian’s tongue runs slowly along his lips. Elim strokes himself once, already half hard in anticipation. 

Compared to a human cock, it’s always hard. It’s always huge. It’s patterned like the rest of his body, so much more structured than the pretty little thing between Julian’s legs. Elim can see Julian’s perfect ass like this, tiny, puckered hole already stretched and dripping. Julian knows better than to be unprepared. Elim’s a patient man, but Julian always tests the limits of that. 

Julian wriggles his ass in a final plea to start, and Elim lines his cock up and shoves in all at once, impaling Julian in one jagged, blissful motion. Julian instantly arches off the bed, head thrown back to scream. No matter how many times he asks for it, he can never truly be prepared. The girth and length of Cardassian cocks aren’t meant for human encasement. Elim’s bigger than anything Julian should reasonably be able to take, preparation or no. Julian’s panting already, unable to catch his breath. He’s so _tight_ around Elim’s cock. Elim should give him time to adjust but doesn’t. 

Elim slips halfway out with a sick squelching noise, slamming back in a second later with the force of a phaser. He could be doing as much damage. Elim adjusts, rocks his hips, pulls out and slams in again at just the right angle; Julian buckles in delight, shriek suddenly warping into a cry of ecstasy. Elim doesn’t just hit Julian’s prostate, he batters it senseless, pounding into it over and over again with bruising ferocity. Julian doesn’t even try to hold on. His arms fall uselessly to the bed, head tossed aside, body writhing wantonly. Elim looms over his meal and pins down Julian’s thin wrists for the heck of it, nipping and sucking and kissing at Julian’s sweet face. Julian simply takes it, moaning and gasping and erupting every time Elim slams into him. Elim keeps the rhythm fast, efficient. Steady and relentless. 

Eventually, he grunts and leans his forehead against Julian’s, so swept up in the pleasure himself. Julian’s easily the best fuck he’s ever had. So tight, so hot, so pliant and willing; it’s like Julian’s body was made to house Elim’s cock. He should’ve taken Julian to Bajor. He should’ve fucked Julian in one of their pristine meadows or against the new embassy’s wall or right over the Gul’s desk. He wants to fuck Julian all over the universe. Julian would look so gorgeous on Cardassia Prime, a foreign treat to parade around and mark unequivocally...

“Is this what you wanted?” Elim snarls suddenly, knowing it is but wanting more of Julian’s voice. 

It’s broken and punctuated in breathy gasps and cries, but Julian manages to moan, “Oh, yes... yes, yes!” He’s so desperate for it. He didn’t start that way, but enough mental battles and skillful foreplay and conversations and lunches and Julian’s fallen right into his trap. How Elim ever ensnared such a beautiful being still eludes him sometimes, but other times, it makes perfect sense for Julian to belong at his feet or in his bed. Julian tilts his head just enough to weakly lick the hard line of Elim’s jaw, groaning, “Touch me?”

Elim smirks. He doesn’t need to. Julian’s hard as a rock against his stomach; he can feel it; he makes sure of it. He never misses his target, slamming into that same spot over and over, barely giving Julian time to breathe. But Julian’s greedy in his pleasure, and twice he tries to buck his hips up into Elim before his strength gives in. He’s strong, normally. Apparently not strong enough to withstand a good Cardassian fucking. But he _wanted_ this. Still does. He begs under his breath, “ _Elim..._ ” Never _master_ , like it should be, but this is somehow sexier, more intimate... “ _Please, please, please..._ ”

Only because Elim’s getting close, he decides to be a merciful lover. He runs his hand down Julian’s sweat-slicked side and between them to Julian’s cock. As soon as his fingers wrap around it, he pumps, and he only gets three in before it’s too much. Julian arches off the bed and howls, always the vocal lover. Elim can feel his entire body tensing. His cock twitches in Elim’s hand, and the next minute, a warm, sticky liquid is pouring out between them, trying to shoot up but not having the room. It slicks them together, and Elim’s hips don’t stop for a second. He keeps ramming into Julian again and again until he thinks his brain might burst from all the pleasure. Not even Tain’s anti-torture device could provide this much rapture, make him feel this good. It’s like his entire body is thrumming with bliss. Julian’s ass is spasming from his orgasm, clenching and convulsing around Elim’s cock. 

Elim comes with a roar a second later, slamming in and grabbing Julian’s hips, shoving them down and holding them there. His nails are digging into Julian’s skin, leaving scratches, but he doesn’t care. He half wants to pull out and cover Julian in his cum, his loads so much larger than a human’s; he could paint Julian’s chest and coat his face and clump up his hair.

But the rest of Elim just wants to fill Julian up, be _inside_ him. He can feel his cum welling up inside Julian’s ass until there simply isn’t room to take anymore, and it drips out around Elim’s cock and pools in the grey sheets below, soaking Julian’s thighs. Elim rocks his hips gently as he comes, milking the last moans out of Julian’s hoarse throat. 

Then he leans down to nuzzle into Julian’s face, earning a growing smile. Their noses rub together, and Julian sighs, “I think... we’ve both had enough spy work for one day. ...You should lounge in bed with me for once.” He clenches his ass on purpose around Elim’s cock, just finishing up. Elim slips out anyway, if only to watch Julian’s gaping ass spill an obscene amount of Cardassian cum. On a whim, he scoops a little bit onto his finger and brings it up to pop into Julian’s mouth; Julian sucks on it obediently. 

Elim kisses Julian’s face and sighs, rolling onto the bed beside him. Julian smiles, and Elim’s finger slips out of his mouth. It’s a lovely proposal, certainly. Julian’s clearly still tired, and the sex took more out of him. He’s a limp doll next to Elim’s satiated flesh, and he curls up against Elim’s side, snuggling close. 

Elim cuddles back, if only to stroke Julian’s round shoulders and feel Julian lick the ridges of his neck. For a long while, they’re just lost in that post-coital haze of spent lust and lingering enjoyment. It’s a wonderful, relaxing time. 

Then, eventually, Julian yawns, and his eyes begin to droop, and his breath slowly evens out. Sleep’s claimed him again, which is good; it’ll give him time to heal. He’ll need it. 

And Elim needs to get _something_ done today. He kisses Julian’s cheek and regretfully disentangles himself, slinking quietly out of bed. 

He strolls back to his console, fondly ignoring the enemy transmission and getting back to work.


End file.
